


things above and below

by badAquatic, orphan_account



Series: Trailerstuck [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alien Mythology/Religion, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Drug Use, Illustrated, Implied Relationships, Implied Underage, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sober Gamzee, Troll families sure are weird!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 10:32:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badAquatic/pseuds/badAquatic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trailerstuck Side Story 1: We've heard Karkat's story, now let's see what Gamzee was doing exactly at the same time. </p><p>This should be read after "that ain't me".</p>
            </blockquote>





	things above and below

**Author's Note:**

> Trailerstuck Side Story 1: Let's all see what Gamzee's up to! :D
> 
> ...
> 
> ...oh no. 
> 
> Oh god no. :(

**Trailerstuck Side Story 1: things above and below**

  
**  
**by badAquatic and LeMauvaisPomme

 

==> **Be the VTY and SAT**

  
 

You are Gamzee Makara and you have recently been moved from the rocky cliffs and fog of the Amethyst Institute to the noise and crowds of New Jack City. You know how to completely relax your appearance by now, to withdraw to a little knot inside your chest like a snail in its shell, and answer in a slow almost echoing voice when you are spoken to.

You know how to act the fool and show people only one of your two faces unless absolutely necessary.

Like in the case of Karkat Vantas.

You no longer sleep in a prison cell but on the pull-out couch with a sagging mattress and itchy wool blankets. There is no room in the trailer for a third recuperacoon but it’s not unusual for you. You could take the sopor concentrate pills but you prefer to go without.

Keeps you focused.

Despite Kurloz’s signing of how you are all family and should be comfortable around each other, you know his own fears creep into him. They float along the surface of his thinkpan, so simple and easy to read: worries about the rent, about staying cold through the peak of summer’s boiling heat, about Meulin’s pills failing at the wrong moment, the anxiety of having another mouth to feed, and of course Nepeta. About her being hurt, about her quadranting with an unstable purple like you or that freakishly strong blueblood friend of hers. He’d prefer she be with Karkat, someone stable who couldn’t break her spine like he once did.

Kurloz is a failure of a Subjuggulator in every form.

You feel it your place to teach him true fear. 

* * *

Nepeta is happy to have a companion besides Karkat Vantas. She always wanted a sibling to keep her company. The first night you are home she talks happily with you about all sorts of things you don’t give a shit about—mostly cats. The little sister is all about cats, hunting in the swamps and overgrown grassy fields, and quadrants. Always with the quadrants this girl.  

You study her face, looking for the trace of highblood in her. It’s not obvious but you see it in the long bridge of her nose, pointed ears, and long curved fangs. She’s a tough little sister; you’ve seen her fight, hunt, and pounce before though it was all in play. Kurloz signed to you of how frightened Meulin was when their previous home had a rat infestation, until it was discovered their grub was killing the furred invaders just using her teeth and cunning.

She’s not all softness comfort like Meulin, who makes a good mindless follower and nothing else. You wonder if you could hammer the oliveblood out of Nepeta, to prevent her from becoming like either of her parents and salvage the bloodline that would have ended in shame were it not for your existence.

You recall Kurloz’s fears and you smile. Nepeta thinks you are smiling about her shipping wall and her choice to pair Karkat and herself for redrom.

She honestly has no idea.

* * *

You walk around Park Avenue, a humdrum of activity and strip malls with Nepeta and her friends Terezi, Aradia, Equius, Vriska, and Kanaya. Park Avenue was once part of downtown, but now the mobilehive park has swallowed it with the half-hazarded construction of Aniline End. Now no outsiders will come here. It all belongs to the mobilehive park, to those who live on the bottom rungs of New Jack City in crowded squalor.    

The jadeblood hates you and you hate her beyond pitch but she’s powerless to do anything with the SAT mark on your record. Sometimes you’re happy. Sometimes you’re sad. Sometimes you’re a manic psychotic who wants to murder everything in your field of vision. The SAT mark is a blank check to do as you please and claim it was a sopor addled fit.

Sometimes your sopor fits are real though. More often than not, you fake it. You’ve practiced long enough to make it indistinguishable to the untrained eye.   

The SAT mark is good but now you have to watch your glute. You slip up in a big way and the jadeblood’ll gut you and claim you were endangering her charge, like Vantas.

Equius sweats in your very presence, surprised at a highblood near him. You can tell from the smell he doesn’t consume meat. You make a mental note about Equius’ adherence to the old hemocaste. That could be useful in the future.

Other than that, the entire afternoon escort is tedious. You return to the mobilehive with Nepeta where she goes to her room to finish procrastinated studying and you lay on the pull out bed. You ignore the sounds of Kurloz and Meulin trying to fuck without you noticing. You watch Subjug Shore and think about the degradation of your hemotype. They’ve become jesters—over muscular, tanned stereotypes who chug Faygo and are mocked while camera lights flash in their faces.

No rage in them at all. Just pointless endless mirth to ease the public’s rightful fears of highbloods.

It sickens you.

The first thing you’ll do once you summon your Lord is have him cull the entire cast for being so motherfucking blasphemous.

You can only watch twenty minutes before you get sick of it. You wonder how your little mutantblood friend is doing. By now he should be asleep. You could slip in and slip out easily. You leave through the window, carefully creeping across dry grass. This part of the mobilehive park is old, before they began running out of space and started piling them on top of each other like peasantry high-rises, like where Peixes and Amphora currently live near the metal tainted river.

The lights are on in Karkat’s mobilehive. You studied the movement patterns of the adult trolls he houses with. Cronus leaves the mobilehive at seven o’ clock to catch the bus since, according to Kurloz, the bike is in the shop. Kankri has a car, and moves in and out during the day and always buying a new six-pack of alcohol along with snacks. Cronus returns around 10 o’ clock, dragging his feet.

The window to Karkat’s room is open.  You climb through the window, getting on the daybed that smells of sweat and spilled mutant genetic fluid. You also smell something else—an ape? Hmm.

But that’s when you realize Karkat Vantas isn’t motherfucking here either. You hear footsteps and soft slurred cursing. A bottle rolling along the floor. The bedroom door is open. You get off the bed and peek out, hoping it’s your heated little bitch…but then you see it’s an old, drunken red blood that smells of beer and depression.

Karkat isn’t here. 

You turn back to the daybed, ripping off a strip of fabric from the stained bedsheet. You didn’t come over here to return back motherfucking empty handed. You are worked up and one mutant is as good as the next. You enter the hallway. The mutantblood’s eyes are dilated from the alcohol.

“Who in the hell are you and what are you doing in my house—”  

And you leap forward, easily forcing him to the ground. The mutantblood—Kankri, that’s his name—scrambles to get away from you. You dig your elbows into his back, pinning him. While he’s thrashing, you pull the scrap of cloth over his eyes.

“Motherfucking shut your mouth mutant!”

“W-what are you doing—”

You growl, grabbing his left arm and wrenching it behind his back. His sweater is a faded red, unraveling in patches. You push up his sweater and see his ridiculous high pants. You chortle and pull at the belt holding them up. You rub a knee against his nook and hear him yelp. Feel the heat there. You pause and wonder if you can trigger this motherfucker’s heat. You tug off the belt and pull down his pants.

“ _Stop!_ Let me go! Cease this conduct at once!”

“You keep motherfucking struggling and it’ll just be worse.”

You growl and slide a claw roughly into his nook. It’s already wet for you. He yelps and you feel his muscles clamp around your finger.

“W-who are you— _ah—_ what are you doing?”

“What does it motherfucking feel like, mutant?”

You grin, liking the way he squirms and gasps, unable to fight back. Helpless as a grub getting scraped out of its eggsack. You give a savage grin and rip his pants clear off. It’s easy enough with this shitty Walmart brand polyester. You expose him and give his glute a slap.

“Such a motherfucking fine piece of glute you have.” you lean in close, growling in his ear, “All the better to get plowed.”

“…I don’t want this…”

“Too motherfucking bad.”

  
 

You slip in another claw to punctuate your point. After all, it’s no fun if they aren’t enjoying it: so when everything is over and Kankri is left alone, he realizes how much he liked having you violate him.

And it allows you far more control for the future.

Of course he struggles. They always do at first, but it’s not so much a struggle against you but against his denial: why this is happening, what is happening, and how much he is going to enjoy it. Kankri claws at the ground, moaning louder.

“P-please…I…I have a matesprit…I c-can’t…” and he breaks off into a mumble intermixed into a groan.

The audible words ring false to you, the mumbling more fascinating. You start to slowly extract your fingers from his wet mess of a nook. “What was that?”

He pants out: “…mmm…f-faster…gods, go _faster_ …”

You oblige him; you move your fingers faster, head tilting with a grin you know very well he can’t see.

“You motherfucking slut. You want this don’t you? How long has it been since you’ve been properly fucked and wriggled?”

As if you needed the confession. You’ve had enough experience to tell the difference between a relaxed slut and an anxiety filled virgin. Kankri is definitely no virgin; after all he’s been in matespritship for years now if what Kurloz said is true. They have offspring. That would mean Cronus had used him at least once…then again, this is only assumption. You slowly withdraw your fingers, looking at the red coating over it.   

Kankri—predictably—shakes his head with frantic ferocity. He tries to move away from you, blindly scrambling forward.

“I-I can’t afford…a-another kid and I don’t…I _never_ …” 

You grip his hips hard now, pulling him back to you. You unzip your pants, purring with the satisfaction at having a nook virgin. Your bulge is already eager.

“Well that is a motherfucking shame.”

You press against his nook entrance. Kankri groans, muscles clenching. His hips shake as you move into him and— _Lord—_ it is a _tight_ motherfucking fit. He moans and you feel him stretch, his nook swallowing you in.

“Ahhh…oh…oh gods…”

“You like that eh?”

You dig your claws against his hips as you start to roughly take him now, groaning at how tight he is. Now _this_ is what you wish you were doing to Karkat Vantas…but this drunken gasping mutantblood is just as good.

For now.  

Kankri keens under you.

“Yes…y-yes…please more…oh gods please more…”

It’s as if those are the magic words.

“Such a motherfucking slut, aren’t you? You want to fucking ride this bulge?” You are ramming him. Your claws dig into his hips, drawing more of his cherry red blood.

“Yes…yes f-fuck me…fuck me FUCK ME!”

Kankri feels you pick up the pace and yelps, tightening around your bulge. You are panting heavily, pile driving into the writhing shrieking mutantblood.  You wonder if Karkat can hear his whore of a father wailing for more and that thought makes you push even harder.

Kankri screams when he climaxes. Those lungs he uses for lecturing are being put to good use. The genetic fluid that pours out of his bulge is thick and nearly congealed. You wonder how long it’s been since he had a proper orgasm. You groan, pressing deep into the mutant with a satisfying shudder. You release your fluids into him, splattering his eggsack purple.

“Motherfucking _yes_ …you little whore…”

Even after his climax, Kankri is still shaking. You pull out of him, watching your genetic fluids trail down his thighs. He’s completely spent as he collapses on the floor. 

“…fuck…” he pants, “…oh fuck…w-who are you…”

“Doesn’t matter, bro,” you respond, “You got what your slut nook wanted.”

You leave him collapsed on the floor as you pull your pants up. Let his so called matesprit find him, curled on the ground with the evidence of a highblood teaching him his place.

* * *

You return to your temporary home through the front door, because you honestly have nothing to hide in this place. Kurloz is sitting on the couch, waiting for you. His deficient matesprit might not hear the sounds of you fucking Karkat’s slut father but he can. His ears are honed and his teeth and claws are sharp.

He is a highblood in everything but temperament.

His stare is a mile long, meant to be intimidating since your father ripped out his tongue for being a blasphemous failure during his stint in the Institute—when the Institute didn’t swallow a weak clod of dirt and spit out an mauve diamond.

You stare back, and sit on the couch casually. Why should you fear him when the anger and fire was stamped out long ago? He moves his hands to speak with you but you glare at him. You won’t have any of that hand waving bullshit when it’s just the two of you.

You chucklevoodoo it up.

«HOW LONG IS THIS GOING TO MOTHERFUCKING TAKE» which is Kurloz’s passive aggressive bullshit way of telling you he wants you out of his house, out of his hair, and out of his life.

«it takes as long as it needs to take brother»

«WHAT IS WITH ALL THE MOTHERFUCKING WAITING THEN»

«WHY DON’T YOU JUST FORCE HIM AND BE DONE WITH IT»

«TIME DOES NOT STAND STILL HERE EVEN FOR US LONG LIVED ONES»

«it is not that motherfucking simple kurloz»

«this isn’t you pawing at your disciple in a motherfucking frenzy in the middle of a public park»

«its a sacred as motherfuck ceremony»

«POINT MOTHERFUCKING TAKEN»

«this conception must be carried out in motherfucking proper fashion»

«yes, he must be terrified but his body must accept it as well»

«he must enjoy his terror, his fear, his rage, his sorrow, and joys all mingled into one before feeling the oblivion of that final sweet as motherfuck climax»

«then and only then will our lord and master the angel of double death come into begin once more incarnate, into this offshoot thread of reality»

«is conquest will inch forward as he claims yet another sliver in the vast emptiness of paradoxspace»

«honk honk»

«THIS I ALREADY MOTHERFUCKING KNOW AS IT WAS SPOKEN BY OUR FATHER WITH THE GRANDEST OF MOTHERFUCKING BLOOD»

«my point is»

«give me your daughter»

Kurloz pauses. You don’t have the skill to read minds but you can glance over the surface, picking up the obvious emotions. Kurloz is a blank. His eyes are wide but he keeps his face as impassive as possible.

«I FAIL TO FOLLOW THAT LINE OF MOTHERFUCKING LOGIC AS TO WHAT NEPETA HAS TO DO WITH THIS»

«OLIVEBLOODS KNOW NOTHING OF WHAT US HIGHBLOODS DO»

«exactly»

«they’re just lowblood tools meant to be used for the most holy of services in the name of mirth, rage, and needful chaos»

«HONK»

«just as the mutantbloods are the tools of continuing the line, the olivebloods are the scribes of the way who will pass it on forward when the apes, the bugs, and the lizards seek to eliminate us by hemocaste»

«it’s time she be welcomed into the motherfucking family business as the humans would say»

Its then Kurloz breaks off his connection with you. You feel him inching away, withdrawing into himself. Acting the chickenshit coward he is at heart, despite all that purple going through that vascular pump. His eyes narrow. He stares at you.

«you cannot defy me and you know this kurloz»

«the vantas offspring is slow as motherfuck business»

«your offspring is for entertainment»

«honk»

Kurloz’s eyes narrow further. He may be an adult but you are stronger than him. He knows how dangerous you are when you don’t have your way; when you are denied your blood privilege.

And he knows you well. You are his brother after all. He knows how great your bloodline is.

How terrible.  

You don’t need much to force your hand, because he reforms the connection with you, chucklevoodooing once again:

«YOU BEAR THE TITLE OF OUR GOD THE TWO HEADED DEMON KING OF MIRTH AND RAGE WHOSE ONE FACE SMILES AND THE OTHER SCREAMS»

«BOTH EMIT THE VAST HONK TO SUMMON THE ANGEL OF DOUBLE DEATH TO ALL WORLDS»

«FOR WITHOUT THE NEEDFUL CHAOS ALL TIMESPACE AND ITS THREADS WOULD TURN TO THE STAGNATION OF SUCH THINGS AS DREAM BUBBLES»

«WHICH IS UNDEATH IN ITS PUREST FORM»

«IN THE NAME OF MIRTH, RAGE, AND NEEDFUL CHAOS I SURRENDER HER TO YOU TO BE INDOCTRINATED INTO SERVING HE WHO DESTROYS THAT WHICH IS ALREADY DEAD YET DREAMING»

«HONK»

«honk»

He is the first to leave the room. After such confrontations, he usually returns to nuzzle in the arms of his oliveblood. You watch basic cable and turn to a late night sermon from the Signless Orthodox church in the capitol on TET. You listen out for the scream of horror when Cronus finds his matesprit.

It doesn’t come immediately.

You end up sleeping during the sermon, while the minister speaks of the apocalyptic vision visited upon the writer of the Tome. 

* * *

 

_In the beginning there was endless stagnation before the chaos of self-created divine birth. And there were 12 gods of might and power, each embodying what the entire universe lacked in its utter stillness._

 

_The Quartz Muse. The Zephyr Spirit of Toys and Games. The Doomed Mage of Bifurcation.The Maestro of Lonesome Hearts._

 

_The Sylph who eats Sunlight. The Blind Goddess of the Just. She Who Steals Luck.The All Consuming One._

 

_He Who Slays Hope. The Glass Goddess. The God of Mirth and Rage_

_and, The God of Blood and Haze._

_And this 12 gods of the outer rims of emptiness created the stars and the planets, wove and sang time to move forward and heavenly bodies to spin, burn, and descend. But there was no life, only inanimate decorations to light up and design the galaxies._

_There was no love. No miracles. Only vacant beauty._

_And the God of Blood and Haze—who is love both flushed and pitch, who is the bonds of kinfolk and kind, and who is the chaos of all consuming lust and wantonness—wanted there to be beasts both brutal and amorous to amuse him and appreciate him. To make hope and despair possible and to worship the Dodeca._

_He also wanted there to be chaos, to rouse and stir what was necessary and to change what could no longer be. And so he took starstuff from the skies and the blood of the other gods and made 8 gods of his own, the Octet:_

 

_The God of Air and Darkness. The God of Time’s Clockworks. The Bewitched One. The Maiden made Eternal._

 

_He who Speaks for Hope. The Spirit of the Void. The Noble God who Drinks in Souls, and: The Eldritch Goddess of Unending Gaze._

_The Octet swarmed about a blue-green marble of a planet and created all the beasts and the birds, all the plants and creatures. The Bewitched One gave them life, the God of Time’s Clockworks gave them inevitable death, and the Noble God who Drinks in Souls kept those dead and unborn in his colossal heart._

_The Octet and the Dodeca—the two Courts of Immortality and Eternity—interchanged with each other and all was well until the God of Blood and Haze despised the stagnation of peace and set about to stir things up._

_And the God of Blood and Haze was consumed by his lust for all things living and would produce bestial offspring—titanic monstrosities with beaks and compacted eyes, of tendrils and crustacean claws, of living fire and myriad legs, and formless creatures that wreaked havoc upon the earth and still the God of Blood and Haze knew they were his children and his kin and loved them so and lusted after them so. And so he made more monsters as time went on._

_The Eldritch Goddess of Unending Gaze—who is terror incarnate, who is joy and sorrow—took these horrific children and made her Noble Circle of Horroterrors and kept them close to her bosom like a mothergrub would her eggs._

_And the Dodeca and the Octet were horrified by these children and made war against the Noble Circle, the Eldritch Goddess, and the God of Blood and Haze. And it was the Bewitched One who sealed the Eldritch Goddess at the core of this planet, along with her Noble Circle. And with the Eldritch Goddess sealed away, it was the God of Time’s Clockworks who battled the God of Blood and Haze and skewered his arms and legs to the surface of a planet at the edge of time itself._

_And the God of Blood and Haze’s love eternal turned to hatred beyond pitch darkness. And he cursed both Courts with the Vast Expletive, the strongest curse known throughout all time and space that not even the God of Time’s Clockworks can fight against._

_And this Vast Expletive echoed across timespace, and created the God of Mirth and Rage at the beginning of time. And the God of Mirth and Rage knew not how or when he had been created, but knew he must journey to the end of time—where the God of Blood and Haze laid on the long dead planet._

_And when the God of Mirth and Rage meets his creator, their progeny brings forth the last Horroterror: the Angel of Double Death, which destroys what is already dead._

_And the Angel of Double Death will consume and rend what the Octet and Dodeca have created…_

 

You wake up to the sound of alarmed shouting and an Latter Day Terrorsaints ad proclaiming you could start to receive the good news of the Eldritch Goddess  if you call the 1-800 number and order their _correct_ version of the Tome. The clock says that it is 11:53 PM.

Cronus is shrieking next door.

You yawn, and straighten your shoulders. You had been waiting all night for this and yet you’re annoyed about the interruption.

You were having the most pleasant of dreams.

Oh well.

Showtime.


End file.
